What Fathers Do For Their Sons
by PenPatronus
Summary: The only way to save Stiles is to transfer the Nogitsune to another body and kill it there. The Sheriff volunteers. Drama, hurt / comfort, angst. Featuring Stiles, Scott, Sheriff Stilinski, Melissa and Derek. Written after "The Fox and the Wolf" but before "De-Void."
1. Martyr

**Summary: **The only way to save Stiles is to transfer the Nogitsune to another body and kill it there. The Sheriff volunteers. Drama, hurt / comfort, angst. Featuring Stiles, Scott, Sheriff Stilinski, Melissa and Derek. Written after "The Fox and the Wolf" but before "De-Void."

**What Fathers Do for Their Sons**

PenPatronus

Part 1 of 2

**Martyr**

"So how did Ethan—"

"Isaac." Melissa McCall would never admit that she loved to correct her ex-husband, not even to herself.

Scott's dad sighed. "Isaac. Right. How did Isaac and Derek meet?" He pointed at the two betas who stood talking with Scott on the opposite side of Derek's loft.

Melissa tugged on the stethoscope around her neck. "Are you trying to understand what's happening here or prepare a testimony for a prosecutor?"

"Melissa, I…" McCall dragged his fingers down his face. "I will never understand what's happening here. Do you? Honestly?"

Melissa avoided his gaze. "I understand that it will save Stiles. That's what matters."

"What matters is that a man is going to die!" McCall looked over his shoulder at the sliding iron door and the two figures talking in hushed voices there. "Granted it's a man who doesn't know his ass from a hole in the—" A smack across the cheek interrupted his sentence. Melissa's palm was so loud that everyone in the room turned and looked at them.

"You son of a bitch." Melissa's eyes looked like they were about to glow. "Don't you dare say a thing against him."

McCall grinded his teeth and he rubbed his sore cheek. "Look, Melissa, I admire what he's doing. I don't think it will work but—"

"You know what I admire about him?" Melissa snapped. "He's been like a father to my son. He _has_ been his father."

McCall winced as if she'd slapped him again.

"All those years together in the Army… You two used to be best friends."

"Yeah! Before he—"

"Before _you_!" Melissa hissed. "Before your drunk ass caused that car crash the night Claudia died! You think he wanted to arrest you? He was doing his job!"

"He betrayed me!"

"He stuck his neck out for you in court. You would've had a much longer sentence if he hadn't. You would've lost your job!"

"M-Mrs. McCall?" a timid voice said. Lydia tiptoed over to them. "He's waking up."

"Excuse me. I need to do _my_ job." Melissa swung her stethoscope over her head and followed Lydia towards the center of the room.

Allison was kneeling in front of Stiles who was chained to a chair. His face and lips were pale, his eyes weren't focused and he could barely lift his chin off of his chest. "How long was I out this time?" Stiles mumbled.

"Almost 36 hours." Allison rubbed soothing circles into his back. "How do you feel?"

"I'm not…" Stiles jumped when Melissa pressed the cold stethoscope to his chest. "I'm not sure. Is Scott – is Scott here?"

Scott heard his best friend's voice and raced over. "I'm here." He took Stiles' hand and looked at his mother. "Is he ok?"

Melissa pocketed the stethoscope and pressed her middle and forefinger on the inside of Stiles' wrist. "Maybe we should have an ambulance standing by. He should get right to the hospital when this is over."

"When what's over?" Stiles asked. He took a deep, steadying breath and lifted his head up far enough to see around the room. "Scott, what's going on?"

An oval of mountain ash, minus six inches, surrounded Stiles. There was an identical chair ten feet in front of him with a line of ash dividing the oval in half. Derek, Isaac and the Twins stood on the edge of the ash, their eyes fixed on Stiles with varying degrees of concern. Behind them Sheriff Stilinski was handing three objects to Alan Deaton: a piece of paper, his wedding ring and his police badge. Alan nodded and patted him on the shoulder. The four werewolves, Allison, Lydia and Melissa stepped aside as he approached. Tears swamped Scott's eyes. He hiccupped, coughed, sniffed. And then he threw his arms around Stilinski's neck and hugged him for a long thirty seconds.

"I'll take care of him," Scott whispered in the sheriff's ear. "I promise."

Stilinski trembled. "I know you will. Take care of yourself, too." He gently pushed Scott out to an arm's length and met his gaze with equally waterlogged eyes. "Thank you, Scott."

Scott shook his head. "Thank _you_," he tried to say but could only mouth the words. He pivoted, then. Scott walked into his mother's arms and hugged her, too.

"Dad?" Tears dropped one by one, every other second like clockwork, onto Stiles' pale cheeks. "Dad, what's happening?

The sheriff got down on one knee so that it was easier for his son to look him in the eye. "Stiles, do you remember what I write on your Christmas card every year?"

Stiles' fought against the restraints. "Dad, I don't understand. You're scaring me. Tell me what's going on!"

"Stiles." Stilinski suddenly he lowered his forehead and pressed it against his son's knees. He took an audible breath. "Stiles, what do I write?"

"Something – something about how you – you'd do anything for me. _Dad_—"

"That's right." Stilinski lifted his tear-stained face and forced a smile. "My precious son," he whispered, "there's nothing I wouldn't do to protect you. I'm proud of the man you've become. I cherish you every day. And I love you, Stiles." Stilinski leaned up and kissed his son on the cheek. "I love you, Stiles."

And then Stilinski stood up, marched across the oval and sat down in the chair. Eyes on Stiles, sitting stone still, he didn't put up any resistance as Derek and Deaton chained him down. Everyone took their positions: Lydia, Melissa and Allison took handfuls of mountain ash and closed up the entire oval. Ethan, Aiden and Isaac lined up behind Peter with their claws unsheathed and their fangs bared. Scott stood behind Stiles, just outside of the ash. The Yukimura's emerged from the shadows. Kira held her sword and her mother held a transparent jar. Both looked upset but determined. Peter Hale followed them and the three stood behind Stilinski's chair. Scott's dad folded his arms against his chest and leaned his back against the wall.

Alan Deaton stood in front of Stilinski with a book in his hands. "Are you ready?" he asked his friend.

The sheriff nodded. "Don't hesitate," he said to Kira, and then to Peter. "Make it quick."

Kira bit her bottom lip. Peter looked bored.

Deaton cleared his voice. "Here we go."

**To Be Continued**


	2. Sacrifice

**What Fathers Do For Their Sons**

PenPatronus

Part 2 of 2

**Sacrifice**

Deaton opened up the book and started to speak in a language that none of them, not even Lydia, recognized.

"Dad, what are you doing?" Stiles demanded. He pulled and pushed on his chains, desperate to escape. He pulled and pushed so much that he knocked the chair, including himself, over onto its side. Lying there helpless, his right cheek mushed against the floor, Stiles could only watch. A half-dozen phrases later, Deaton's words started to draw something intangible right out of Stiles' lungs.

Something in Stiles convulsed. Inhaling air suddenly felt more like swallowing lava. He cried out in pain. Deaton spoke louder.

The light in the loft was dim but it still cast shadows. Everyone watched, shocked, as Stiles' shadow started to ripple like a mirage.

The wrinkled edges of his jeans and plaid button-down made up that shadow. The wrinkles started to take a different shape: ovals and wings. Dozens at first. Hundreds. Thousands. A whole swarm. A whole swarm of buzzing fly-shaped shadows slinked out of Stiles' body. The flies spread out slowly like a lazy wave of oil. They bounced off of the line of mountain ash and, contained, slithered forward through the throat of the oval towards Deaton.

Deaton stepped aside when the shadows reached his toes. With a final shriek of agony, Stiles went still – his head slamming into the floor as the last of the Nogitsune was exorcised from his body. Dizzy, nauseated, Stiles watched helplessly as the demon approached his father. Lydia and Allison threw down more mountain ash to complete the line bisecting the oval. The shadow and the Sheriff were trapped in the same cage.

Melissa broke the ash line behind Stiles and Scott raced to his friend. Hands on his shoulders, fingers trying to comfort him with a massage, the trembling Scott blocked Stiles' view.

"No," Stiles whispered. He stretched his neck left and right, desperate to see around Scott. "God, no – _no_! Dad, don't do this! _**Dad**_!"

"Don't watch, Stiles," Scott begged. He wrapped his body over Stiles' head. "Don't look, don't look."

"Somebody – anybody – Derek, Isaac, help him!" Stiles' body buckled with hysteria. "Kira please don't kill him – listen to me – please! _**Please**_!"

The shadow was six inches from Stilinski's feet. The sheriff closed his eyes.

A sudden flurry of footsteps. Melissa gasped so loud that Scott couldn't help but look up. And when he did he saw his own father leap over the line of mountain ash and land between Stiles' father and the Nogitsune. "Dad? Dad!" Scott stumbled forward only to be stopped by the ash line. He banged his fists against the barrier. "Dad!"

McCall looked back over his shoulder at the sheriff with tears in his eyes. "Take care of my son," he said. "He needs you more than he needs me."

Shocked, Stilinski said nothing. He only watched, wide-eyed as the buzzing shadow bugs crawled up his old friend's legs and entered his heart one by one. "Wait for it," Deaton said to Kira and Peter. He put his book down and folded his arms against his chest but that didn't stop his voice from trembling.

Scott slammed his fists again. "_**Dad**_!"

When the last flutter of shadow entered his body, McCall's head snapped towards the ceiling and a scream of madness erupted from his throat.

"_Now_!" Deaton shouted.

Lydia and Allison kicked the mountain ash, opening up that half of the oval.

Peter and Kira did what they were supposed to.

Like Kira's mother and the old she-wolf did half a century ago, Kira and Peter attacked Scott's dad on two fronts: the sword through the chest and the claws through the spine. McCall folded to the floor slowly. Blood left his body as lazily but dramatically as the demon entered it. With a last gasp he crumpled, twitching and then still and quiet.

A lone buzzing fly flew out of McCall's mouth. Kira's mom caught it in the jar.

Scott dropped to his knees. His body was so numb that he didn't feel the impact. He stared, unblinking, at his father's sightless eyes. The scratch-squeak–scratch of iron against wood was the only sound in the entire loft.

The scratch-squeak-scratch turned out to be Stiles struggling forward to take his friend's hand.

* * *

_Three Days Later_

Scott McCall stood at his father's grave with his fists shoved into the deep pockets of his suit. The funeral ended an hour before. Everyone left the cemetery, or so Scott thought until he heard the three hearts beating behind him. He sniffed the wind to identify them.

His mother. There was a salty scent to her skin.

Stiles' dad. He sounded like he was struggling to control how loud his breaths were.

And Stiles. Stiles, who he hadn't said a word to in three days.

When the sun started to set, Scott looked up from the tombstone and said, "Stiles?"

His best friend was at his side instantly. He wasn't sure what to do with his hands. They went from Scott's shoulder to his own stomach and back again. Stiles was a bit weak but alive. He was himself. He was whole.

"I don't," Stiles choked, "I don't know what to say. Scott, I'm so sorry."

"I know what to say." Scott adjusted his posture. He lifted his chin. Although he didn't say it out loud the "thank you" was in the air. Scott pivoted and wrapped his arms around Stiles. "So glad," he whispered, "I'm so glad you're ok."

"Your dad," Stiles gasped.

"Knew that you're worth it." Scott squeezed him even harder. "So glad," he whispered.

**The End**


End file.
